Quilting the Soul
by Dual Quills
Summary: After ten years in the Muggle World, can Harry fit in again?
1. Piercing the Fabric

**Disclaimer:** Neither SD nor myself, JA, own Harry Potter or the Potterverse. That is exclusively the intellectual property of JK Rowling and whoever she's sold rights to. You know who you are…. And I'm not one of you. So behave.

**Quilting the Soul**

**Chapter One: Piercing the Fabric**

A man stood there, looking over the battlefield that was once a beautiful meadow. A pasture where horses grazed, and children played. A place of beauty of nature, and peace of mind. He closed his eyes and could see two boys, one fair and one dark, playing knights. And there, to his left, a girl with flame colored curls picked a basket of wildflowers. She would take those home to her mother, who would smile and tell the girl they were wonderful. The girl would smile, and dimples would appear in her rosy cheeks as she watched her mother place them into a vase.

He opened his eyes, and the death, the destruction, the desecration washed over him like a plague. And he knew that even though he won, he has lost. For never again would children play here. Never again would flowers grow here, waiting to be picked by an adventuress. He knew it was over, and that he could no longer return to the life he lived. He sighed and turned, his emerald gaze saddened by the death of so much. Friends, allies, foes, comrades, nature. With a soft 'pop', Harry Potter left the wizarding world behind forever . . . or so he believed.

_Ten years later_

H. James Pierce, known as James by his colleagues and Mr. Pierce by anyone else, sat alone in his office as the end of the day. He was going through a stack of essays his students had handed in during the course of the school day. He sighed in frustration as he read an essay on Arthur Miller's 'The Crucible'. He didn't know what possessed him to assign that particular piece of literature, but it seemed to have caught the fancy of nearly every student in his classes. His mind traveled back to his own school days, and he idly wondered what Miller would have done with Wendolyn the Weird. He couldn't imagine such a serious illustration of the times jangled by a character with such a disregard for the intensity of the prejudice that she would have herself caught no less than forty-seven times simply because she enjoyed a good tickle. James shook the musings from his head and returned to his work, resolving to think no more on his previous . . . he couldn't call it a life. It was more of an existence.

Two hours later, James was leaving a small Italian eatery with his dinner to make his way home. It was already dark and he could smell the approach of summer in the fresh mown grass. He listened to the sounds of the night. Crickets chirping, the faint sound of a television filtering through an open window, an owl hooting, the distant bark of a dog, and the occasional passing car on the high street. He settled down to watch the news as he ate, before he turned in for the night. He opened his window to cool down his bedroom, and fell asleep to the hoot of an owl, the bark of a dog, and the rustling of a cat.

James was passing back the essays he graded the night before when he heard a sound he thought to never hear again. He shrugged it off as the effects of the story on his memory, until one of the girls squealed and pointed to the window. A cacophony of voices soon erupted.

"Look! An owl!"

"How cute!"

"What's it doing out during the day?"

"Aren't they nocturnal?"

And, James' worst fear confirmed:

"What's that tied to its leg?"

James wanted nothing more than to ignore the bird, going so far as to tell his students that it must be lost, but its continuous tapping gave lie to his words. One compassionate student opened the window before James could stop her, and the owl flew in and perched on the back of James' chair. James stalked over to his desk and muttered softly to the owl.

"Go away. I don't want it."

The owl looked at him with intelligent eyes, but refused to budge. James attempted to flap the owl away to no avail. He tried shooing it out the window, but it stayed put. Eventually, he seemed to give up and sat down heavily on the chair, finally dislodging the owl only for the ruddy bird to land on his desk. He closed his eyes with a loud sigh.

"Fine. Give it here, then," he said.

And, in front of his astonished class, the owl stuck out its leg and their teacher, kind but distant Mr. Pierce, gently untied the letter from the owl's leg.

"Sorry. I haven't got anything for you. Not exactly expecting you, you know," James told the owl with a weary smile.

One student gasped and brought the teacher's attention back to them. He stood jerkily and told them to get into pairs and trade papers. Then they were to read each other's papers and give their thoughts on what could be improved or what they thought was exceptionally well done. And they were to hand in a paragraph that told why they received the grade they did. Of course, none of the students did this. They got into groups, only to discuss their teacher and his strange new friend who was still sitting atop Mr. Pierce's desk.

James stared at the owl for a moment before realizing that it was waiting for a reply. Slowly he picked up the envelope from his desk and looked at it.

_Mr. Harry Potter_

_Teacher's Desk_

_Classroom 21_

_Stonewall High_

_Surrey_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I understand that you have been living away from our world for ten years now. I also realize that you wish for no part of our world again. That is why all contact with you has been stopped. Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley felt that you should and would make first contact when you decided you were ready. They have forbidden us to write to you, and intercepted any owls to you from fans who wish to thank you for what you did on that long ago day. I dare say they despair of ever hearing from you again, but hope that is not the case. However, while they have forbidden us to write, and we have, up to this point, acquiesced to their demands for your privacy, I fear I must ask you to come back to us. There is a new threat to the Wizarding World. I know this seems callous to be calling on your help yet again, Mr. Potter, but I would not do so were it not so desperate here. Mrs. Ginevra Malfoy, among others, has been abducted by these self-styled Dark Knights. You would remember her, I believe, as Ginny Weasley. We have done all that we can to find them, but we fear that it will soon be too late. We do not yet know what they want, and are unsure if we ever will. They are cautious in a way that Lord Voldemort never was. Please reply promptly with your decision. Know this, Mr. Potter. We would have left you to your privacy if we could, but we fear for more than your peace of mind right now. Horatio will await your response._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

_Professor of Transfiguration_

_Hogwarts__School__ of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Order of Merlin, First Class_

James felt a deep sense of guilt well up within him. One he thought he buried with his past. He felt a pressure behind his eyes as if a dam of tears was struggling to break free. He removed his 'frameless' glasses and rubbed at his eyes, giving himself time to think. He became aware of a certain tension in the room, as if the world were waiting with a breathless anticipation. Looking up, he found every pair of eyes trained on him. He gave his class his trademark Pierce smile, crooked and disarming, and raised a brow.

"I see you must all be finished with the assignment. Who wants to collect the papers?" he asked with a smirk.

The class busied itself with writing papers and looking over their essays while keeping an eye on him. This became another integral part of the enigma that was their Literature teacher. No past to speak of, no friends hanging around, the strange wooden pointer that wasn't long enough to point at much and was always up his sleeve, and now an owl with a strange letter that he seems oddly comfortable with. After watching for a few moments, he grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper and began to write his reply.

_Prof. Minerva McGonagall_

_Hogwarts_

_Dear Prof. McGonagall,_

_I thank you for your hesitancy in writing to me in the hopes of preserving my privacy. I was rather surprised to receive your letter, as were my students. Horatio certainly got us off topic rather well as he does not appear in any of the literary works that we are currently covering. Perhaps I should have assigned 'Horatio Hornblower' to their list of required reading. But perhaps, with his insistent tapping, Poe's 'The Raven' would have been more apropos. These Dark Knights you speak of are news to me. I assume they haven't been attacking muggles yet, as there have been no strange occurrences on the news. As for your request, I am unable to provide an answer at this time. I would, however, like to propose a meeting if you are so inclined. I will be at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow (Saturday) at __noon__ for lunch if you care to join me. I would like to refrain from a decision until I have spoken more in depth with you. Please do not mention our meeting to anyone unless you feel the absolute need to inform someone of your whereabouts. But please, if you must, restrict that information to one person only. _

_Sincerely,_

_H. James Pierce (crossed out)Potter_

James rolled the letter up and tried to wait, but Horatio, like his mistress, was not one for patience. James sighed and tied the letter to Horatio's leg and watched as the beautiful bird flew out of the window. With any luck, McGonagall would have it by dinner.

Minerva McGonagall watched as Horatio flew into her office. Dinner would just have to wait this once. She quickly unrolled Harry's reply and gave a rare smile to his opening remarks. Her eyes widened fractionally at his offer of a meeting. She didn't think it would have been so easy. Perhaps she was a bit too heavy handed in her letter to him. But perhaps he just wanted Horatio out of his classroom. She smirked to herself, thinking that was one of her better ideas; having Horatio deliver to his class rather than his home. He would be sure to answer if for no other reason than to rid himself of the owl.

She entered the Great Hall with a spring in her step and took her place beside her long time friend and mentor, Albus Dumbledore, and murmured to him that they needed to speak later. He gave her an inquiring look, but nodded when she shook her head. She would see that infuriating twinkle back in his eyes before the night was over or she would know why.

_-tbc-_

**Author Notes: **Please forgive us if this takes a while to update, as I'm in school or working most of the time now, or working on schoolwork. My quill pal and I will be updating as we can. Never fear, we will not abandon this story. Oh, I suppose I should add a request for reviews. If you want to, do so. If not, don't.

**Additional Note: I have re-loaded this chapter to correct spelling errors that were brought to my attention by Isisoftheunderground. Thank you!**


	2. Threading the Needle

**Disclaimer:** Standard. In last chapter.

**Quilting the Soul**

**Chapter Two: Threading the Needle**

James stepped into the Leaky Cauldron promptly at noon. No one gave him more than a cursory glance, which he knew would change were he to accept McGonagall's proposition. As of yet, he still wasn't sure what it was that she was proposing. He saw who he instantly knew to be his old Transfiguration professor and made his way to her table. He was sufficiently pleased to see that she had picked the most secluded one. He sat across from her and she nodded to him.

"Mr. Potter."

"Professor."

"I was pleased to find that you went into teaching. I do hope Horatio wasn't too much of a disturbance for you yesterday," Minerva said with a sly smile.

James' eyes flared and a smirk emerged. "You did that on purpose, didn't you, Professor."

It was a statement of fact rather than a question, so Minerva didn't deign to reply.

"Tell me about these Dark Knights, if you would."

Minerva's lips tightened into a thin line and she nodded once, sharply, before beginning.

"From what we can gather, they are styling themselves remarkably similar to the Death Eaters, but they are much more cautious and clandestine in their operations. We only became aware of them roughly two years ago. But since we have, the Order has reconvened and we have been following anything out of the ordinary. We do not know who leads this group, nor do we know the identity of any of its members. We are unaware of any of their motives for their doings. We don't know why they've abducted Ginny and the rest, but we believe that they are planning a major move in the future due to their removing of several key people. They have also desecrated several sacred wizarding areas prior to any other movements that we know of. As for the abductees, there really is no link between them that we can find, but we hope that it will become clearer before anyone else goes missing."

"What do you want me to do about it? What makes you so sure I even _can_ help?"

"Albus has asked me to offer you a place on the staff teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."

James blinked at her. "Why me?"

It was Minerva's turn to blink. "Simple, Mr. Potter. You faced and defeated the greatest Dark Lord of the time. Seven times, if you count your first defeat of him. You are eminently suited to teaching others how to defend themselves and those around them against evil forces until help can arrive. You were able to produce a Corporeal Patronus at the age of thirteen. You, along with your friends, founded a club that taught Defense. You were, in that club, the principle teacher. At fifteen, you and five other students battled fully trained adult wizards who had the sole intention of killing all of you, and won. Do you need more proof of your ability, Mr. Potter?"

Had she been describing anyone other than himself, he would have immediately agreed with her. But as it was him, he needed more time. But already he was contemplating taking the next year off, and compiling the list of books he would choose from for his classes. He would need to see what had been published recently, as well as what his successors already covered. And he knew only two things for certain if this was the post they were offering him. One, the position was still cursed. Two, Snape didn't get it. That last thought made him smile. He refocused his gaze on his companion to find her smiling back at him. And he knew then that he had already made his decision.

"Would you care to accompany me to Diagon Alley to look at the available literature for the subject, Professor?"

Minerva agreed, and they left the Inn to spend an enjoyable amount of time in Flourish and Blotts, as well as restock his supply of quills, parchment, ink and other necessary items. He also picked up a supply of owl treats. As they were leaving the Alley—Minerva for Hogwarts and James for Surrey—he turned to her and gave her the first genuine smile he had given her all day.

"I will see you in a week then, Professor. Please keep my arrival to yourself and the Headmaster, if you will. I don't care to have reporters at the gates for my arrival."

Minerva nodded.

"Until then, Mr. Potter."

* * *

After clearing it with his superior—claiming a personal emergency that would take him out of the country for a year—James packed his trunks, closed up and warded his house, and made his way to the Leaky Cauldron to stay the night.

In the morning, he apparated directly to the Shrieking Shack and made his way through the tunnel and away from the Whomping Willow.

He entered through the great oak doors and paused, his trunks floating beside him. Minerva was waiting for him in the Entrance Hall.

"Come, Mr. Potter. You may leave your trunks where they are. The house elves will see to them. Albus has requested your presence immediately."

James nodded, and followed the Head of Gryffindor House. He knew that once he stepped through the door and into the Headmaster's office, he will no longer be H. James Pierce, Introduction to Literature teacher, but Harry J. Potter, the boy-who-lived and the Savior of the Wizarding World once again. He wasn't looking forward to it.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore smiled serenely at all those gathered in his office. The Weasleys were represented through their youngest son and his wife, Ron and Hermione. Draco Malfoy was also there, along with many others. These included the Heads of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin as well as some members of the Order of the Phoenix. This was only a small gathering, as he could not have the full body of the Order together in his office. There simply wasn't room. Now to wait for the final entrance.

"Where is she, Albus? Normally she's here long before the rest of us," Hermione Weasley—nee Granger—said. He had no need to ask who _she_ was, as there was only one person missing. Minerva McGonagall.

"She will be along, Hermione. There is a bit of work that she needs to accomplish before she can come. Then we may start the meeting. I can, however, tell you the topic that will be covered the most today, and that would be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. He will be arriving sometime in the near future, although I cannot say for sure when. Minerva will have that information for us when she arrives," Albus answered with a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. A twinkle that never failed to remind Ron Weasley of his twin brothers Fred and George or, more dangerously, his only sister Ginny, now married to Malfoy, and missing.

"It is of the utmost importance that we retrieve the missing persons. As soon as we are all arrived, we can proceed with determining the connection between . . . Ahh. Minerva, at last. All business is concluded, then?" Albus asked as Minerva stepped in.

"Of course, Albus. May I present to you your new Defense Professor?" With a sweeping gesture, Minerva included the empty doorway behind her in this statement. She was met with curious looks. Turning around, she found herself alone. Tsking, she marched back to the doorway; arms akimbo and one eyebrow raised, she looked sternly into the shadows. A figure melted out of the darkness to sudden silence.

"Harry Potter has returned to Hogwarts," Draco sneered, earning an elbow from Hermione.

As if the comment was a signal, everyone began speaking at once. Albus held up a hand, and the room quieted, though there were still one or two murmurs going around.

"It is nice to see you again, Harry."

"And you as well, Headmaster," Harry replied, though none were convinced that he was truly excited to be back. He took his time looking at each face, searching for the signs of all they had been through in the last ten years. Surprisingly, Draco looked the most aged of them all. True, they all had internal scars that showed in their eyes, but Draco looked haggard, gaunt and weary. The others merely looked tired in comparison.

"Harry!" Hermione cried out and he soon found himself with an armful of woman. Best friend. Hermione.

"'Lo, Hermione," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. He had missed his best friends, no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise. He told himself he didn't miss them, that they didn't need or want him around since Voldemort was gone. He lied to himself.

Through greetings from the others—minus the Slytherins—Harry found himself seated with a piece of parchment in his hands. The list of abducted persons. They were searching for a connection, but couldn't find one, they said. They were hoping he could give them a new perspective on it, they told him. He didn't really care to hear them as his concentration was centered on the listing of names before him. He was riveted. He didn't understand how they never saw it before as it was quite obvious to him. Which was unusual since Hermione was diligently working on it. But the list told its own story.

**_Ginny Malfoy_**

**_Neville Longbottom_**

**_Susan Bones_**

**_Anthony Goldstein_**

**_Blaise_****_ Zabini_**

**_Oliver Wood_**

**_Viktor Krum_**

**_Florean_****_ Fortescue_**

**_Firenze_**

**_Michael Lovegood_**

**_Rita Skeeter_**

Him. He, Harry James Potter, was the connection. Oh, of course, the first six names would have been connected through Hogwarts, some even through their Houses. Or the Defense Association could have been the connection for many. But he could remember every meeting with every person on that list with vivid clarity. Rita Skeeter and Viktor Krum in his fourth year, or Florean Fortescue helping him with his History of Magic essay before his third year. Mr. Lovegood printing his and Skeeter's article in _The Quibbler_. Help from Firenze came times too numerous to count. The rest were easy. The D.A. or Quidditch or friendship. What he didn't know was why. Why was he the connection? Why did the Dark Knights want him?

"It's me," he said so quietly that he almost wasn't heard.

"Oh my. Potter speaks," Severus Snape spoke up for the first time since Harry's arrival. "Now, if only he could repeat it for the rest of us lowly mortals."

With a glare that could rival the Potions Master's best, Harry repeated himself.

"I said it was me. I'm the connection. I'm what they want."

"Pray tell, Potter. Why ever would they want you?"

"Oh, I don't know," Harry replied with sarcasm dripping from his every word. "Could be because I killed your—oops!—_their_ master. Or perhaps because they wanted to join Voldemort and I took that away from them. Or possibly because they. Are. Bloody. INSANE!"

He took immense pleasure in seeing both Malfoy and Snape flinch at the—still—forbidden name.

Dumbledore leaned forward over his desk and looked directly into Harry's eyes. "Why do you say 'their master', Harry? Do you have any information for us?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Sir. It just seems obvious to me that they are, at least partly, made up of Death Eaters. I mean, who else would have the knowledge that they possess? And go about things quite that way? They share many of the characteristics that the Death Eaters did towards the end of the last war. Voldemort may have been brilliant, but he was too much of a megalomaniac to go about things quietly. But he wasn't the only one in that group who had brains. He merely had the power that the others lacked. And let's face it, Sir. I didn't make any friends in that particular crowd. This is all based on an assumption, of course, but it is the only logical answer. Surely you've seen that?"

"Yes, Harry. But we were, and still are, hoping to discount that. The knowledge that Voldemort passed on to many of his Inner Circle has not been widely circulated. It is more of a closely guarded secret between them. I fear that knowledge being put to use. I fear for the safety of our world. And so I hope that none of his Inner Circle are part of this new threat. But then, I fear that hope is misplaced, for where would the missing Death Eaters go if not to another gathering of those who think like them?"

"Exactly. So, what do you propose we do to rescue our friends?"

Dumbledore smiled and began to outline their plan, sketchy though it may be.

* * *

**_Authors' Notes: We would like to thank everyone who has reviewed thus far, and hope that you will continue to do so. We fervently hope that you have enjoyed this chapter and will let us know either way. We appreciate being on the author alert lists of 32 members, but we do hope that you will find it in you to review and let us know what we are doing right, wrong, or could change to make better. Thank you to you all. _**

**_Isisoftheunderground_****_, Guacamoli, Angelic Prefect, FutureGoddess, Britni Puccio, TommieBoy 182, Z-Loca-Grl, Juliane Shelton, zoencomp._**

**_Thank you for your wonderful reviews. _****_Isis_****_, thank you for pointing out the mistake in last chapter._****_ Greatly appreciated by us both._**

**_JA and Vit_**


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